Follow Your Bliss
by notesofwimsey
Summary: Summary: Sticking is what friends do best, isn’t it? And when Flack needs a friend, she’s always been there. Rated for language and sex scenes eventually .
1. Chapter 1

_Mild spoilers for "Child's Play" and "All in the Family". _

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to CBS and their creators at CSI:NY._

_A/N: This story follows __**Quick Follow Me**__, slightly shifting the focus for all my Fiesta friends. _

_**Summary:**__ Sticking is what friends do best, isn't it? And when Flack needs a friend, she's always been there._

* * *

**Follow Your Bliss**

"Flack? Flack!"

He woke with a start and a heavily beating heart, gasping as if he had been under water. When he opened his eyes, he was staring straight into hers through the window. She stood back, hands on hips, impatiently tapping a foot. She signaled him to unlock the door and strode around to the passenger side of the car.

He blinked and moved to hit the lock as she pulled the door open and collapsed onto the front seat. "You living in your car now? Where are you going to keep all your spiffy suits?"

Flack rolled his head back and forth, trying in vain to work out some of the kinks in his neck. "What are you doing here, Stel?"

"I got a call from Officer Davidos from the 19th Precinct, wondering why Detective Flack's car had been sitting all night outside of Detective Monroe's apartment?" Stella's voice was studiously cool.

"All night? What the fuck time is it?" Flack shot back his cuff to check the watch on his right wrist, and groaned when he saw 5:00 blinking at him. "Shit."

"So," Stella turned to face him, her eyes jade-hard in the dim streetlight, "What exactly _are _you doing here at 5 in the morning after pulling a full shift and working over time?" She could smell his breath and added, "And hitting at least one bar?"

Flack grimaced and then leaned over Stella, trying to see up to the fourth floor where Lindsay's apartment was.

"What are you doing?" Stella backed up, exasperation and confusion mingled in her expression.

"Trying to see if Linds' light is out." He said it as if it ought to be obvious.

Stella glanced up the building. "Yes. It's 5 AM, Flack. I'm sure Lindsay is asleep. The question is why are you sleeping in your car outside her building? You lose your apartment? Forget where it is?"

"I brought Danny over. Found him at the bar, and dragged his ass over to talk to her. Then I thought I better not just leave in case something went wrong, you know?" Flack scrubbed his hands over his face and wished desperately for a toothbrush. Idly he wondered why the Tooth Fairy brought money enough for candy, but didn't bring toothbrushes to take of the problem the candy left behind.

Stella's face softened a little. "So you've been sitting out here all night waiting for him? Or for her?"

Flack shot her a confused look, "Him. I mean, why would Lindsay need a ride home? She is home."

Stella sighed a little, then reached out and stroked a gentle hand over his gray face, feeling the rasp of dark stubble under her palm. "You, Don Flack Jr, are a starry-eyed romantic."

He blushed so hard she could feel the heat on her hand. "I am not," he said with disgust. "Jesus, Stella. Don't go around telling people that!"

She laughed, "Oh, you're safe, Don. Who would I tell?"

He slumped down in his seat, one hand over his eyes, "Anyone. Everyone." His eyes snapped open. "Just don't tell Danny. I promised him I'd go home. I don't want him to think I didn't trust him to fix this."

Stella leaned over, and before she analysed it too much, kissed him on the cheek. "A definite true-blue romantic."

"Jesus," he groaned again, the blush rising higher on his cheeks, where he could feel the touch of her lips burning. "You're killing me here."

"Your reputation is safe with me, Flack. I won't tell anyone." Stella moved back to a safe distance again. She could feel her heart beating a little faster than it needed to.

Flack half-turned in his seat, and captured her hand in his. It had taken his fuzzy brain a few minutes to process this event, but he was there now. "Stella? Why did you come?"

"I told you. Davidos called me – I was coming off-shift and she thought someone should check on you." Stella sat a bit further back in the shadows.

"Why not her? Or whoever is on patrol?" He leaned a little closer – it wasn't that big a car.

"Maybe she thought we were going to need a crime-scene processed," Stella said wryly.

Flack was already shaking his head, "Come on, Bonasera. Spill. Did you think I was making a move on Monroe?"

Stella shook her head a little too emphatically, "No. I didn't."

"Ah. You didn't. But Davidos did?"

"Actually, she lost the toss, so she was the one who called. I think there was a lot of discussion first."

Flack dropped his head back on the headrest. Cops gossip worse than old women, he thought in dismay. It wouldn't take six hours for this to hit Danny's radar. And no matter whether Messer had spent the whole night in front of Monroe's door, or behind it, he would not take kindly to this kind of rumour being added to the others that would surely be running by now.

He closed his eyes. He was surrounded by Stella's scent – light and sweet, probably from her hair, mixed with a richer scent that he thought of as just her. He could feel the heat from her body radiating beside him. If he kept his eyes closed, if she didn't speak, he might be able to muster up enough courage to drive away.

"Flack? Are you sleeping again?" Stella's voice was tinged with a little impatience; she had been called back into work after leaving Lindsay, then to deal with this situation, and she could feel the exhaustion creeping through her veins like slow-moving poison. "Can you drive me home? I left my car at the lab."

Flack opened his eyes and nodded. A perfect gentleman. That's what his mother brought him up to be. And that did _not_translate into – what had she called him? 'A true-blue, starry-eyed romantic.'

"Ah, to hell with it," he muttered, and reaching over, pulled Stella into his arms, so she was lying across his body, her luscious curves crushed against him. Without a word, he lowered his mouth to hers, and was immediately lost, drowning in sensation as her mouth opened under his, her body warmed and softened. After a second of shock, she responded with an eagerness that had him gasping and desperately wanting more.

It could have been minutes later. It could have been months. When he finally raised his head, she was staring at him with suspicion, although he could see the flush of arousal on her cheeks, the glitter of it in her eyes.

"What the hell was that for?" she sputtered.

"That was for the audience," he replied coolly. "But this one," he touched his lips briefly and sweetly to hers, "This one is just for us."

"Then maybe _we_ should do a better job of it," she said, huskily, and took him under, the heat of her mouth burning through him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Mild spoilers for "Child's Play" and "All in the Family". _

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to CBS and their creators at CSI:NY._

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews and reads, everyone. Here's the next step in the dance._

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**Follow Your Bliss**

**Chapter 2**

The drive was silent, Flack's right hand twined in Stella's left, lying on the bench seat between them. As they got closer to Stella's apartment, he could feel her anxiety grow. Her breathing became a little lighter and faster; her hand grew cold. She sat looking out the passenger side window as if she needed to navigate, to find her way home.

Flack stopped glancing her way after a while, concentrating on the early morning traffic. Even before dawn, New York was a noisy, busy place; it was easy to pretend that he needed to pay attention. He could still feel her mouth under his, the teasing swipe of a tongue, the heat of her body in his arms. He could feel her quiver when his hand swept over her.

He pulled up in front of her apartment, and turned off the engine. They sat silent, hands still laced together, but they were suddenly miles apart.

"Do you want to come up?" Stella said uneasily.

"Only if you want me to." Flack fought to urge to argue, to beg, to lie at her feet like any supplicant.

Well-brought up. And perhaps a bit of a romantic, he thought, glumly.

"I should go up… You should go home, Don." She ran her free hand over his cheek, her thumb tracing the bone. "You look so tired."

He sighed, and leaned to kiss her. On the cheek, he thought firmly. Like a friend. No more.

Stella turned at the same moment and their noses bumped. She pulled back with a bit of a grin and looked at him, eyes sparkling with the joke. He put his hand on her cheek, mimicking her action of a moment ago and moving closer again.

And then their lips touched.

And the two of them simply ignited.

Time slowed to one single, heavy heartbeat and then stopped.

When Stella pulled back, Flack felt the world begin turning again, a little faster than normal – as if it were trying to make up for the lost time. His breath was suspended in his lungs.

"Wait. What are we doing? Maybe this isn't a good idea." Stella's breath came light and fast. Her eyes were wide in her pale face.

"Yeah. Maybe you're right. We should slow down, maybe." He watched her colour come back, saw the sigh of relief ripple through her.

"Thing is, Stel, I'm wondering …" he said slowly, gauging her reaction, "Exactly_why_ is this not a good idea?"

"I don't know – we work together? Have friends in common? I'm older than you? I killed my last boyfriend?" The last was muttered under her breath and Flack ignored it for the moment.

"Okay, but give me one good reason."

When he flashed her that irrepressible grin, she swallowed hard. She was having trouble keeping focused here.

"It crosses a line, Don." She tried to say it gently, to not put too much weight on it.

"Hmm. Yes, I can see that it does." His hand squeezed hers, then moved slowly up her arm and around to her shoulder. She held her breath as a wave of heat flooded through her, as he drew her closer, his mouth hovering over hers.

"The thing is, Stel," he said it quietly, so that she felt it as much as heard it, "I was never very good," his lips nipped hers so gently, so quickly, she nearly cried, "I was never any good at all," his finger traced the high bone of her cheek, then fisted lightly in the curls at the nape of her neck, "At staying in between the lines."

Any cogent argument she might have come up with fled along with what little breath she had left as he took what he wanted, coaxing, begging, finally commanding her to submit.

There was no will left in her to fight it. She opened to him without thought, and was instantly shaken to the core by the sheer overwhelming need he instilled in her.

Much later, Flack actually snuck back down to check and make sure they had closed and locked the doors when they left the car. As they made their way up to Stella's apartment on a wave of lust, though, securing the vehicle was the last thing on their minds. In fact, the only conscious thought Stella was capable of was "More. More. More."

As they hit the door, Flack had a completely inappropriate vision of the blonde and perfect Devon, the socialite who slummed with him for a few weeks until something shinier than a New York cop's badge caught her eye. The thought of all the complications he was about to create crossed his mind, but then Stella moved against him, and all thought simply ceased for a moment.

"Wait. Wait," he gasped as he struggled to get a hold of himself. "This is Stella," he thought crossly. "A guy who wants to keep his balls doesn't just bang a woman like Stella Bonasera up against a wall."

He risked a glance at her face, and nearly revised his opinion: she was flushed and panting, and he was pretty sure he could have her anyway he wanted her at the moment.

So he was choosing not to go at her like a randy teenager. That didn't make him a romantic, did it?

He tightened his grip on her, and swung her into his arms, momentarily surprised by how easily he could lift her, then simply reveling in the feeling. He followed the hall to her bedroom – he had been here before, but pushed the memories of blood and death out of his mind. He wished he understood what kind of strength it had taken her to exorcise the demons in this home.

He wished he had one tenth of that strength.

He laid her gently on the bed, willing himself to slow things down. If, as his heart was already whispering, this was a one-time offer, he was determined to make it last a lifetime.

Struggling to catch her breath, Stella put one hand up cautiously, "Give me a second here, will you, Don?"

He bit his lip and sat beside her, carefully keeping his distance. "Okay. What do you want me to do?"

She ran her hand through her hair frustratedly. "I want you to fuck me blind," she said honestly, "But I've just come off work, and I'm tired and grubby. I need some food. And some sleep. And a shower."

He looked into her face – eyes dark and wary and tired; lips, red and a little swollen from his, firmed against temptation. She was stalling, he knew, and yet waves of need reached out to him: he could feel the heat.

Looking into her confused and irritated face, he couldn't help it. He laughed, a rumbling snort that started at his feet and worked its way up through his body until he was shaking with it. He slid off the bed onto the floor, put his head between his knees and laughed until his stomach hurt.

It didn't take much to set Stella off as well. The worry over Lindsay, the normal stress of a demanding day, the niggling fear she had felt when Davidos had reluctantly tagged her for Flack-duty, then the pent-up tension of the past hour: it all drained out of her as she watched Flack in amazement. When he hit the floor, she began to chuckle. By the time he was gasping for breath, she was hooting with laughter, which just set him off again.

It took them several minutes to finally stop breaking up every time they looked at each other. She held her aching stomach; he wiped his streaming eyes.

"Oh god," she finally breathed. "Would you be insulted if I said that was better than any sex I've had in about five years?"

"As long as you leave out the part where I was two feet from you at the time, no problem," he wheezed.

"Hey! Not many men can say they made me come without even touching me," she teased.

He bit back the obvious retort: that touching her would make it even better for both of them. That small part of him that stood back and observed sighed: it could see the words "_Let's just stay friends_" in a bubble over Stella's head.

She was lying on her back, her head turned towards him. Sitting on the floor, he was close enough to feel her breath on his cheek. He shut his eyes to keep her from reading his thoughts.

"Don." She said it quietly, insistently. "Don?"

He dropped his head back against the edge of the bed. Maybe she'd let him sleep on the couch – he didn't think he could make it home safely in this state.

"Don." It was a whisper. He felt the bed behind him give, heard her feet hit the floor. The bathroom door opened, and he prepared himself to get to his feet with what dignity he could scrape together.

Then he felt a silky shirt fall about his face, and heard the hesitant offer in her voice, "Come join me."


	3. Chapter 3

_Mild spoilers for "Child's Play" and "All in the Family". _

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to CBS and their creators at CSI:NY._

_A/N: Thanks to those watching, reading and reviewing this fic. I always appreciate hearing what people think of the story. At the moment, this is the final chapter._

_But you never know what will happen next! (At least, I don't.) _

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**Chapter 3**

The water was warm and soothing, pouring down over silken skin.

The steam was fragrant and rich, a heady combination of honey and arousal.

He was lost before he stepped in behind her, his hands aching with the need to touch, to caress, to explore.

It took no time for need to overcome the last, lingering thoughts of common sense and the future. It took little time for them to stumble, slick and wet and wrapped around each other, to the bed, to fall onto it in a tangle of limbs and kisses and sighs.

His fevered mouth on her breasts, trailing after his fingers, delicately traced his passion on her skin.

Her body, responding to his like a cherished instrument played by a master's hand, quivered and bowed under his mouth.

Her gasp as he entered her, his groan as he was surrounded by her heat, merged two into one.

She rolled, taking control unexpectedly, driving him into a frenzy, taking her pleasure, then relinquishing power back to him as he slowed things down to a pulse so deep it resonated to the centre of her being.

The sun streamed in through gauzy curtains, and the sounds of the wakening street became the soundtrack to their journey of exploration. A rise, a peak, a slow tumble in each other's arms into satiated sleep, to rouse again to desire.

It was as if, having denied themselves so long, they could only feed on each other, only be satisfied with each other.

At one point, Flack snuck away from her sleeping arms to lock up the car, to phone in for messages.

At one point, Stella foraged in the kitchen, and they shared fresh fruit and ice cream curled up in the middle of the bed, sucking pulp off fingers and mouths reddened by cold and stung by sharp citrus juices.

They drank each other in, devoured each other, quenched a craving they had refused to acknowledge. They did not talk, did not analyse, did not question.

She woke alone in the bed, sprawled across it on her belly with the duvet loosely caught under her hips. Her muscles ached pleasantly, reminding her of days after dancing, when her whole body felt loose and limber and well-used.

Except her feet weren't bleeding, she thought with satisfaction. That was one definite advantage sex had over dance.

She rolled over, running a hand through her hair and pulling up the quilt. A glance at the clock beside her bed told her it was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon – good thing she was off today, as she had not even thought about phoning in.

There was no sound in the apartment, no sense of anyone else. The clothes that had been dropped on the floor were gone, and she could tell Flack was gone with them.

She indulged in one moment of self-pity, one moment of feeling used and discarded, then pushed back the covers and swung her legs out of bed. She would dress, she told herself, and tidy her apartment, and then go shopping for food to make herself dinner. She would put this day away in a private place to be brought out and enjoyed the next time she was feeling edgy and in need of sex.

Sex, she repeated firmly. Good sex with a friend whom she trusted.

She stretched as she stood up, searching out and easing any lingering sore spots.

Make that great sex, she amended, as she made her way lazily to her kitchen to make coffee.

On the table, in Flack's distinctive left-handed scrawl, was a note:

_Stel – sorry. Got called back in. Didn't want to wake you. Talk later –_

_F._

Coffee was ready to go – just needing to be turned on.

Stella smiled. She hadn't really thought Flack would sneak out. In fact, she seemed to remember a soft kiss on one bare shoulder, a whispered goodbye. But, like any good cop, he knew better than to interfere with a few precious minutes of sleep. Sipping her coffee, she went to the bathroom. Playtime was over. It was time to return to real life.

The scent of her honey shampoo gave her a sharp, pleasurable pang, her hand moving slowly over sensitized skin as she re-traced the paths his hands had taken. She shivered once, then firmly shook herself and stepped out of the shower to dress and move on.

If the day looked a little brighter, if she was a little quicker to smile at the vendors in the market, at the people on the street, if she moved lightly along the crowded streets and reveled in the sunshine, well, who could blame her? A sense of well-being filled her – it was a beautiful day in her favourite city after all. What more needed to be said?

She arrived back at her apartment, juggling bags and a small bouquet of bright spring flowers she had not been able to resist. The sight of a tall dark figure leaning up against the wall by her door gave her such a shock she dropped the flowers, and they scattered across the hall floor.

"Shit, Stel. I'm sorry." Flack bent down to gather up the broken blossoms, staring down at them ruefully. He had passed the flower-seller only a few minutes ago, deliberately squashing his first impulse. And here she was, buying her own flowers. He offered them back to her, but she held up her keys and let them into the apartment.

"You startled me, that's all. Don't worry," Stella tossed the drooping flowers on the table as she took her grocery bags into the kitchen. She glanced at the clock, and turned a burner on under a skillet. It felt a long time since she had eaten, even given that dinner could take place any time between dawn and midnight.

"What are you doing here, Flack?" she said as she began cutting up peppers and tomatoes. "I thought you were called back into work?"

"Yeah. Got a call from ADA Tarrington. She's putting me on the stand at 9 in the morning on the Kristov case."

Stella smiled when she saw him sorting through the flowers she had dropped, choosing the least mashed blooms and carefully jamming them into the vase on the table. "Are you ready for that? I thought they had a continuance?"

Flack caught her amused look at the sorry-looking floral arrangement and flushed, then searched through the pile of leaves and stalks in front of him for the folder he had brought with him. He handed it to her, and carried the discarded greenery into the kitchen to drop into the garbage disposal with the seeds and stalks of pepper. He crammed his hands into his pockets.

"I need to go over the evidence, get it clear in my mind, if that's okay. Some slick lawyer got the case back before the judge to challenge something – I don't know." He sighed, frustrated. "I just got the panic call for tomorrow AM."

Stella put the folder back down on the table, and with a few deft touches made the floral arrangement carelessly graceful. Then she quickly flipped through the folder of documents and reports, frowning thoughtfully. "No problem. I can run you through it all again tonight. I just have to make dinner first – I'm starving. You up for pasta?"

He nodded, and reached for the bottle he had placed on the table beside the flowers. "Something to match a nice Californian merlot?"

She handed him a corkscrew and watched his strong hands open the bottle, filling the two glasses she handed him from the cupboard. She tasted it and smiled at the clean fruity flavour, then reached her hand out for the bottle.

He gave it to her with a bemused look that turned to shock when she poured a generous amount into the bubbling pasta sauce. "Hey! You're supposed to drink that, you know!"

She giggled, a sound which so enchanted him he would have given her the rest of the bottle – hell, the rest of the vintage – just to hear that sound again.

"Trust me, Flack. If it's good to drink, it's even better to cook with. Makes a good sauce perfect." She spooned a little sauce up, blowing over it with pursed lips, tasting it, then offering the rest to him.

His eyes locked on hers, he bent towards her and tasted the sauce from the spoon. Then, with a casual strength, he pulled her closer and tasted the sauce again from her lips.

The kiss went from sweetly exploratory to blazingly passionate in the time it took her to drop the spoon and wrap her arms around his neck.

"Look at that," he murmured, his breath fanning over her trembling mouth. "You're right. It's perfect."


End file.
